?Chapter 877:


    The doctor had already examined her—her blood pressure was dangerously low.


    “What happened?” Ernest asked, his voice sharp and full of concern. He couldn’t understand how the staff had failed to take care of a single person.


    She was blind, not critically ill. How had things escted to this?


    The caregiver stepped forward. “Mr. Flynn, I’m not entirely certain, but it appears Miss Hond may have a sleepwalking condition.”


    “Sleepwalking?” Ernest’s eyes narrowed. He turned to Quentin. “Check the surveince footage.”


    “Right away, sir.”


    Night-vision cameras in the facility had captured everything. Upon watching the footage, Ernest’s expression darkened. Elissa had indeed been sleepwalking.


    But what unsettled him most was what she did during it—cradling a cushion like a child, gently patting it.


    “Mr. Flynn.” The doctor approached. “We administered an injection and provided oxygen support. Her condition has stabilized.”


    “Good,” Ernest murmured, heading to her room.


    He sat beside her bed, staring at her pale face, lost in thought.


    What had really happened after she found out she was pregnant?


    She was still married to Robin back then. Why had Robin allowed her to carry the pregnancy to term? And after that—why had she abandoned the child?


    There must’ve been pain behind her decision. She could’ve chosen otherwise.


    Recalling the image of her clinging to the cushion like a child, Ernest sighed.


    Maternal instincts didn’t vanish overnight. Perhaps she’d regretted leaving Locke. Maybe that regret had triggered the sleepwalking. This—this was his fault. He had pushed her too far—even though he never meant it.


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    Just then, Elissa stirred. Frowning in her sleep, she tried to remove the oxygen tube.


    Startled, Ernest reached out and caught her hand.


    “Don’t move,” he said softly. “The oxygen will help you feel better.” He gently patted her shoulder, the same way he used to silentlyfort her weeks ago.


    Gradually, her breathing slowed, her body rxing.


    Ernest gave a faint smile and kept holding her hand.


    At dawn, he left the facility.


    But instead of returning to Flynn Mansion, he visited a psychologist.


    “If it’s mild,” the doctor exined, “sleepwalking can often be managed through diet and proper rest. In more serious cases, we may use medication or therapy.”


    “What’s the patient’s current condition?” Ernest hesitated. “I’m not sure. I just found out.”


    “Is the patient able toe in herself?” the doctor asked again.


    “No,” Ernest admitted—he wasn’t even sure if Elissa was aware of her own condition. He doubted she’de in if he asked. He wasn’t in any position to demand that.


    “Then I’ll prescribe a mild medication,” the doctor said. “Monitor her condition in the meantime.” That, Ernest could do.


    With Elissa staying at the sanatorium, observation wouldn’t be difficult.


    “Alright, prescribe the medication.”


    “Certainly, Mr. Flynn.”


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